Marie Ferrarella - Twins On The Doorstep

Stacy shook her head. She could feel Miss Joan beginning to run right over her. “No, she’s going in January.”

Miss Joan’s expression remained unchanged. “Still got time.”

Determined, Stacy pushed on. “I know, but she was all excited and took off, quitting right then and there. I told Rebecca I’d take the job.”

Cole looked at her in surprise. “You need a job?”

Stacy really didn’t feel comfortable discussing anything personal in front of Cole. Not after the way things had gone between them. But with everyone—especially Miss Joan—looking on, she had no choice. She couldn’t exactly ignore him.

“It kind of came up,” she finally said. “My house burned down, so I’m staying at the hotel.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask, “Why didn’t you come to me?” but in a way he had a feeling that she had, looking at the infants. “If you need a place to stay...” he began.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly, cutting him off. “But I just said I have a place to stay. The hotel,” she stressed. And then she remembered that she’d only popped over for a quick bite. She needed to be getting back. “Speaking of which—”

There were those who insisted that Miss Joan was part mind reader. Stacy had a tendency to agree.

“Don’t worry about it,” Miss Joan said, cutting in. “I’ll send Rachel over to the hotel to explain what happened. This is September,” she reminded the young woman. “Not exactly the busy season for the hotel, so Rebecca should be okay with you not being there for an hour. Or so,” she added significantly.

Stacy felt as if things were snowballing out of her control.

“But—” she began to protest.

As if on cue, the babies began to fuss in earnest, each growing progressively louder than the other, as if it was some sort of a pint-sized competition.

Miss Joan nodded toward the infants. “I guess you have your marching orders,” she told Cole and Stacy. “Now go. And I don’t want to hear anything about you using a rope,” she told Cole. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Miss Joan,” he replied.

It was easier that way than getting into an argument with the diner owner. Legend had it that no one had ever won an argument with Miss Joan, and that included her husband, Cash’s grandfather. But then, Henry Taylor had doted on Miss Joan, which, it turned out, was exactly the right way to get along with the woman.

* * *

“YOU REALLY FOUND these babies on your doorstep?” Stacy asked several minutes later.

She had gotten into the back seat of his truck and he had handed her the wicker basket with the babies. The infants were dozing and the silence in the truck felt overwhelming. Stacy couldn’t think of anything else to say, and every other topic would set them off on a course she had no desire to travel.

“Yes, I did,” he answered, getting into the driver’s seat. He glanced at her over his shoulder.

As if she didn’t know where he found the babies, he thought.

He was staring at her, Stacy realized, and it took everything she had not to squirm in her seat. This was a totally bad idea, going with Cole to the clinic like this. But no one said no to Miss Joan and Stacy wasn’t about to be the first. She had no desire to have her head handed to her.

“Do you have any idea who the mother might be?” Stacy asked him.

Okay, Cole thought, he’d play along. “There might be a few possibilities,” he responded vaguely. “But that’s why I came with them to Miss Joan. She’s always on top of everything and I figure that she’d be the first to know whose babies they were.”

“Miss Joan doesn’t know everything,” Stacy insisted.

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But right now, I figured she was my best shot.”

Why are we playing these games, Stacy? Tell me the truth. Are these babies mine?

For one moment, he wrestled with an overwhelming desire to ask the woman in the back seat just that. It would explain why she’d left town so abruptly. But he knew asking her was pointless. He knew her. She wouldn’t answer him. In all likelihood, she’d just walk out on him the way she had the last time.

And, angry as he was about her leaving him, he didn’t want that happening again. Not until he’d had a chance to talk with her—really talk.

Desperate for something to say, he fell back on what Miss Joan had said when she’d first greeted Stacy.

“I’m sorry to hear about your Aunt Kate,” he told her. “What happened?”

“She died,” Stacy said stoically.

Why are you acting as if you care? We both know you don’t. You don’t care anything about me or about Aunt Kate, so stop pretending.

“I realize that,” he said, doing his best to be patient. “That’s why I said I was sorry to hear about her.” Getting his temper under control, he asked, “Did it happen while you were in Europe?”

She looked out the window on her left. “Yes.”

He felt pity stirring within him. “That must have been awful for you, having her die and having no one to turn to.”

She blew out a breath. She didn’t want his sympathy. She didn’t want anything from him. Still looking out the side window, she said, “I managed.”

“We’re here,” he announced, and just like that, the topic was closed.

For now.

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